


Here Lays, Not, a Restful Soul

by espioc



Series: Rest Your Head [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Chronic Illness, Major Depression, Markershot Loving Her Wife, OC centric, good therapy, purposeful bad therapy, sorry everyone, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espioc/pseuds/espioc
Summary: A fic that runs alongside Where You Rest Your Head, that takes a look into the life of Markershot, Starscream's therapist. We don't know a lot about her, but we're about to.Markershot struggles to juggle her ill conjux, rent, her own illness, and helping to reverse the damage Starscream's previous therapists have done. But she's just one bot. Sometimes life proves too much for her.
Relationships: Markershot (OC)/Broad-way (OC), Starscream & Wheeljack, Starscream/Wheeljack
Series: Rest Your Head [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573639
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Markershot is one of my favorite OCs that I've created. She, unfortunately, isn't featured in person in the other OC fic I've written, "An Arms Reach A Million Miles Away," which features the other three OCs who go with her. I've wanted to write one or two Markershot centric chapters in "Where You Rest Your Head," but I just find they don't fit. But I really want you all to meet Markershot, and see her as a full character, so she gets her own fic! I hope you all enjoy, despite the heatbreak it may bring.
> 
> Also, here is a picture of Broad-way, as I do not really describe her, except in WYRYH. 
> 
> https://starscreamwastaken.tumblr.com/post/189770068547/i-thought-i-had-posted-this-picture-but-i-can

_Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap_

“Broad?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Hm? About what?”

“About the interview.”

“You have an interview?”

“Yes, dear. I told you about it last week.”

Broad-way shook her head. She muttered to herself. “I don’t remember that.”

Markershot rested her pen on the table. “It’s for Starscream. To be a therapist for Starscream. The Starscream. Former ruler of the planet Starscream. I mean, is that crazy? I think that’s crazy. And me? Why did they pick me? I mean, I’m good at my job, at least I really hope I am, but- Broad where are you going?”

“To take a shower.”

“Broad, we already took a shower today. Can you please let me rant? I’m ranting here. I am stressing.”

Broad-way wasn’t listening. She walked to the center of the room and paused. She looked around, brow furrowed.

Markershot slowly stood from her chair. “Dear? Are you alright?”

Broad-way did not respond. She pointed to the painting on the wall. “When did we get that painting?”

“Wayside gave it to us as an anniversary gift a hundred years ago.”

“It’s very nice.”

“It is very nice. I love that painting.” Markershot picked up the energon cube off the table. “Are you going to finish your cube? You haven’t touched it.”

“I already ate today.”

“No, you haven’t eaten anything.” Markershot thrummed her fingers on the counter, watching every minute movement her conjux made. “Broad? What are you thinking about right now?”

Broad-way turned around. “I’m going to go to bed.”

“You just got up.”

Broad-way furrowed her brow. She shook her head. “No, no. No, it’s late, I have to go to bed.”

Markershot stepped forward. “No, dear. We just got up.” She took Broad-way’s hand on both of her own. “Why don’t we go for a walk. Clear our heads."

Broad-way shook her head. "No. I don't think I want to go out."

Markershot tried to keep the smile on her face, but it dropped on one side. She forced it back on.

“Alright. We can just stay in. Watch a movie or read together, does that sound good, dear?”

Broad-way did not respond. She nodded. “Okay. We can do that.”

Markershot let out the vent she’d been holding in. “Great. I’ll put a movie on.” She pulled Broad back to the couch and sat her down. Broad-way laid down on her back while Markershot put on the movie. It was one Broad had seen dozens of time. A favorite.

Markershot laid down on her partner’s chest and pressed play on the remote.

“What are we watching?” Broad-way asked.

“Toy Story. You’ll like it.”

Broad-way returned her attention to the screen. “Oh, it’s animated. It looks old.”

“It is old. But you’ll like it, I promise.”

Broad-way wrapped her arms around Markershot and pressed her close. “This is another one of your earth things, isn’t it?”

Markershot smirked. “Me? Make you watched an earth film?” She chuckled, her chest bouncing against Broad’s. “Never.”

“You and your earth stuff. Why don’t we just move there, huh?”

“Because we already moved once and I don’t want to move us again.”

Broad-way furrowed her brow. “Move? Where did we move to?”

Markershot paused the movie and sat up. “Cybertron, dear. We’re there now. We live here.”

Broad-way narrowed her eyes. She cocked her head. “Oh? Oh.” She nodded. “Right. I remember now. Right. For all the doctors.”

“Yes, for all the doctors.”

“Well, a lot of good it’s done, huh?”

Markershot laid back down and pressed play. “Let’s watch the movie.”

“What are we watching?”

“Toy Story. It’s an earth movie.”

“Oh. It’s animated. Looks old.”

“It is, but you’ll like it. I promise.”

Broad-way finally settled in. Markershot felt the large frame relax beneath her. As the movie bore on, Markershot lost track of it. Her mind was elsewhere. It was stuck on her upcoming interview. What would she say? What would she do? Would she sabotage herself?

Starscream was not unknown in the psych community. He was a notorious case. Researchers would give their left arm just to have the chance to examine him. Markershot wasn’t a researcher, she was a clinical psychologist. She dealt with therapy, with helping people. Or trying to, at least. She didn’t know how well all of Starscream’s other therapists had fared. He’d gone through four now, so it couldn’t have been well.

Markershot didn’t believe there were people out there who couldn’t be helped. That didn’t stop her from having her doubts.

Below her, Broad-way started to snore. Markershot turned off the movie and stood up. She gave her conjux a parting kiss on the head before retreating to her office. She left the door open and sat down at her computer.

All of the prisoner’s psych records were available to Spire associated psychologists and psychiatrists. That included on-call associate, such as Markershot. She was brought in for trials and evaluations, not to provide therapeutic help. She frowned as she scrolled through the database. She had been given full access where she once had situational. The database had been sent to her with the invitation to the interview.

Markershot had initially considered declining. Unfortunately psych work earned her more money than working at the energon distillery, or being a bodyguard. She was freelance, so she tried to pick up any many jobs as she could from the Spire. Getting a real job would give her stability and enough money to pay all of Broad’s medical bills.

She scrolled until she found Starscream’s file.

It was extensive.

He’d had four therapists who’d all diagnosed him with a dozen different disorders. Paranoia, narcissistic personality disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, antisocial personality disorder, dissocial personality disorder, bipolar disorder, and more. Everything in the book, including diagnoses that contradict each other. He’d been flagged for self harm, harming others, lashing out, anger issues, contraband, insubordination, and had been put on suicide watch on over a hundred occassions.

Markershot leaned back in her chair. She rubbed a hand down her face and let out a long vent. She was going to try and help someone who hadn’t been helped in over 4 million years. Most of those years were spent fighting in a war. On top of everything else he probably had PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks, the whole nine yards. Markershot didn’t like to assume anything, but she’d taken care of bots who’d come out of the Autobot and Decepticon conflict. They were not peaceful souls.

Markershot sat forward and clicked on the audio file. Starscream’s mandatory sessions hadn’t started until 50 years after the beginning of his incarceration. There was supposed to be audio from every single one of them, but Markershot only found a little more than half of the files that were supposed to be there. She brushed it off. Starscream was a high level prisoner. There were probably still things in the system that she didn’t have clarence to see.

Curious, she clicked on the first audio file.

After a few seconds of static a soft voice broke through the speaker.

_“Hello Starscream.”_

Silence followed.

_“Are you going to speak or am I going to have to do all the work today?”_

The speaker made static in place of the silence.

_“You know, I’m here to help you. I can’t do that if you won’t speak.”_

_“I know you’re not here to help me.”_

_“Ah, so it does speak.”_

Markershot furrowed her brow. She paused the recording and took a pen and datapad out of her desk. She placed her pen at the top of the line and pressed play.

_“If you won’t talk to me, Starscream, then you’ll have to go back to your cell. Do you want that?”_

The response was immediate. _“No.”_

_“That’s what I thought. You know, this prison is doing a good thing for you. They don’t have to provide this sort of treatment for you. Someone more worthwhile could be taking up my time.”_

Starscream didn’t respond.

 _“Well?”_ The therapist prompted.

_“I know.”_

_“What do you say to people who help you?”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“Yes. Very good. I’m surprised someone like you caught on to that so quickly. Let’s get into it now, shall we? I want to talk about Megatron.”_

_“I don’t-”_

_“Want to face your issues, I know. But these things must be done. Sometimes we have to be a big bot and suck it up, alright? You’ve killed people, haven’t you? Talking about your issues shouldn’t be that much of a stretch, hmm?”_

No response.

_“I thought so. Now let’s get started. Megatron was your superior, correct?”_

Silence.

_“Use your words, Starscream.”_

_“Yes,”_ Starscream croaked out.

_“Right. And what was your relationship like?”_

_“Complicated.”_

_“Were you two romantically involved?”_

_“No.”_

_“But you must have spent a lot of time together. Being first and second and all.”_

_“Not really.”_

_“Oh? But didn’t you describe yourself as his whipping boy? If you’d go as far to describe yourself like that it must have happened quite frequently, right?”_

A short pause. _“I don’t want to talk about this.”_

_“So you were lying.”_

_“No.”_

_“Your stories don’t match up, Starscream. So what’s the truth? Tell the truth, Starscream.”_

Starscream’s voice broke. _“It was four million years. We spent a lot of time together. Not a lot of time alone. I never wanted to be alone with him.”_

_“Oh? What happened when you were alone?”_

Starscream’s voice came out small, pleading. _“I don’t want to talk about this.”_

_“Then I’ll send you back to your cell, how about that? Would you like that better?”_

_“No, no-”_

_“It seems you’re getting hysterical, Starscream. I think we’re done. I’ll call the guards to take you back to your cell.”_

_“No. No please don’t. Please-”_

The audio cut off.

Markershot sat staring at her screen. Her pen paused where it had been writing. She lingered in the near silence. Static came through the speaker. The bar on the recording timer was still moving. Markershot watched it, following it until the static died and she was left in silence.

“Working?”

Markershot blinked. She looked away from her screen. “Broad.”

Broad-way walked into the room. “What are you doing in here?”

Markershot closed out all the files. “Something for a potential patient. Work stuff. Boring.”

“Oh. You should have breakfast.”

Markershot stood up. “I already had breakfast, Broad.”

Broad-way shook her head. “No, we just got up.”

“No, we just got up a few hours ago.” Markershot walked around her desk and took Broad’s hand. “Come on, why don’t we go out for a walk? Clear our heads.”

Broad nodded. “Sure, we can do that.”

“But let’s get you a cube of energon, dear. You haven’t eaten anything today.”

Broad shook her head. “No, I already had my cube.”

“Did you?”

Broad nodded. “Yes, I’m not hungry at all.”

Markershot frowned. “Okay, dear, if you say so.”

“What are you doing in your office?”

“Nothing.” Markershot pulled them towards the door. “Let’s go for a walk. Does that sound good, Broad?”

"Sure, we can go for a walk."

Markershot pulled them out of the house before Broad-way got the chance to object. They walked down the sunny street hand in hand. Markershot tried to vacate the recording from her mind and concentrate on the hand holding hers, and the sun on her face. The streets were nearly empty, with most people hanging out at the park a couple blocks down.

Markershot bounced on her toes. "Why don't we stop at the sweet shop? We can get a milkshake."

Broad-way didn't respond. She was staring at something in the distance. She pointed. "Has that building always been there?"

Markershot leaned over to see what Broad was pointing at. "Yes. They built it a while ago."

"Oh." Broad lowered her hand. "I guess I just never noticed it."

"Do you want to get a milkshake at the sweet shop, dear?"

"The what?"

"The sweet shop," Markershot said louder.

Broad nodded. "Oh, right. Where's the sweet shop?"

"Right down the street, dear."

Markershot squeezed Broad's hand and lead them down the street. As they walked past the park she spotted a few new families urging their new little ones to walk across the meshy grass. She smiled, squeezing Broad's hand tighter.

"Are we going to the park?"

"Wha-" Markershot hadn't realized she'd stopped. "Oh. No. No," she kept walking. "We're going to the sweet shop, dear."

"Where's the sweet shop?"

"Just another block. Come on, we're almost there."

Markershot took in a deep vent and let is out slow.

"Shot? You okay, honey?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Markershot forced herself to smile. She pulled her tongue around her teeth and squinted her eyes to make her smile look genuine. "Just a lot on my mind."

Broad released Markershot's hand and replaced it around her shoulder. "You think too much."

"Well, my line of work can do that to a bot."

Broad started to rock them, nearly knocking her conjux off her feet. "Just walk, and relax, and-" she swept Markershot off her feet. "Let me sweep all your worries away."

Markershot giggled, clutching Broad's chest and keep her steady. Broad-way nuzzled the side of her face.

"Quit it," Markershot chuckled. "Oh Primus. We're in public, dear."

"I'm allowed to love you in public." Broad retracted her mask and gave Markershot's lips a long, lingering kiss.

"Alright," Markershot pulled away, dodging Broad-ways insistent lips. "Put me down, come on. We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"To the sweet shop." Markershot squirmed out if her conjux' arms. "It's right here."

Broad-way looked up at the sign on the building. "I don't think I've ever been here before."

"Yes you have, you just don't remember."

“I suppose I’ll have to trust you.”

A bell rang above the door as they stepped inside. A bot at the counter greeted them with a smile. Markershot smiled back. She checked behind her to make sure Broad-way was all the way inside, and hadn’t stopped at the door.

“Cute place,” Broad said, placing her hand on Markershot’s shoulder.

“I love this place.”

“What are we getting?”

“We’re getting a milkshake, dear.”

“A what?”

“It’s an earth thing.”

“Oh,” Broad leaned down and nuzzled Markershot’s cheek. “I should have known.”

“I’ll order for us.”

Broad-way stood up straight, but kept one arm slung over Markershot’s chest. They mulled over the menu above the counter for all of thirty seconds before they ordered. All of the flavored ice creams were artificially infused with artificially made flavors. They tasted vaguely plastic-y, and sometimes stale, but having a solid flavor of any sort was an improvement from the usual sour or tasteless energon they’d had for millions of years. Considering neither of them drank, Markershot and Broad had a limited flavor palette.

Markershot ordered a strawberry milkshake. She sat them down at one of the little tables outside. The worker behind the counter provided a larger chair for Broad-way to use, so she didn’t break the wimpy wire ones.

Markershot placed the milkshake between them and took a sip.

“Is it good?” Broad asked, scooting under the umbrella.

Markershot nodded, still sipping. “MmHmm.”

Broad stuck in her own straw and took a tentative sip. She slapped the flavor in her mouth, squinting one eye when a burst of sour hit her. “It’s pretty good.”

“You made a face.”

“Just a little sour.”

Markershot abandoned her straw and rested her head on an upturned palm. She absently stirred the white fluff on top into the rest of the milkshake. “I’m still worried about this interview, Broad.”

“What interview?”

“The one I have tomorrow. To be Starscream’s therapist. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well, it’s a job isn’t it?”

Markershot nodded. “It’s a job alright,” she sat up straight. “You know. I think-” she drew her lips between her teeth, pausing in her stirring. She released her straw and folded her hands atop the table. “I think I could really help that bot. I don’t think anyone has ever tried to help him before.”

“Help who, honey?”

“Starscream.”

“Oh.”

“I-I think I want this job. I think I actually want this job. Is that crazy? I feel crazy. I feel like a crazy person. I just-” she huffed. “I just can’t shake this feeling I have.”

“What sort of feeling?”

“That stupid feeling I get when I really want to help people.”

Broad-way chuckled. “That’s just your nature talking. You’ve always loved helping people, and you’ve never been able to help yourself.”

Markershot groaned. “I know. But this one might be too big for me.”

“Shot, why did you become a bodyguard?”

“Because I wanted to protect people.”

“And why did you become a lawyer?”

“Because I wanted to defend people.”

“And why did you become a psychologist?”

“Because I wanted to help people.”

“Exactly,” Broad placed her knuckle under Markershot’s chin and lifted her head. “And you’re going to, right?”

Markershot smiled softly. She took the hand from under her chin and held it between her own, rubbing the rough spots with her fingertips. “Right.”

They polished off the milkshake and went home. On the way home they stopped at the park to look at the flowers for a couple of minutes. By the time they arrived home Broad-way had forgotten about the milkshake and the walk, and had long forgotten about the movie they’d watched earlier. It was evening now, and Broad-way hadn’t touched a cube. Every time her tanks rumbled she remembered she was hungry, but just as soon forgot. Markershot made her a cube and sat them down at the table beside the energon dispenser.

“Broad,” she slid the cube forward. “You know, I’m concerned you haven’t refueled enough today. Have a cube for me, won’t you dear?”

Broad-way chuckled. “Always worrying over me,” she said, taking the cube. “Alright, only for you."

Markershot leaned back in her chair and watched Broad polish off the cube in one go.

“Whew. Wow. I must have been hungry.”

“We should go to bed soon.”

“Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure. We can watch a movie.”

Markershot wandered to the couch. Instead if sitting next to her Broad-way scooped her up and placed her in her lap as she sat down.

“What are we watching?”

“Toy Story.”

“Oh. I’ve never heard of that. This another one of your earth things?”

“It is.” Markershot pressed play. “You’ll like it. I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

Markershot woke up in a cold berth. She groaned and rolled onto her opposite side. For a while she stared at the wall.

_Get up get up get up get up_

The sound of the water running hummed through the walls. Markershot sat up and lingered on the edge of the bed. “Broad.” She called in the direction of the washroom. “You in there?”

Broad-way stuck her head into the room from the other door. “In where?”

Markershot took a deep vent and let it out slow as she rose from the berth. “You left the shower on again, dear.”

“I didn’t take a shower this morning.”

Markershot sighed. “Okay.”

When she reached the shower, the water was running cold. She sighed, but stepped under the spray anyways. Markrshot hugged herself, her plating rattling under the cold pellets. She made quick work of washing. When she was done she dried off and waxed up. She looked at herself in the mirror, scanning for any scuffs or marks. The wings on her back flexed and wagged.

When she felt satisfied she sauntered into the livingroom and made herself a cube at the dispenser. “Did you eat, dear,” she called from across the room. Broad-way was sitting on the couch watching the vid-screen. Markershot looked around for an empty cube. She checked the garbage. “You haven’t eaten today, Broad.”

“No, I just had a cube.”

Markershot brought a cube over to the couch and handed it to her conjux. “Then have another, okay?” she gave Broad a kiss on the head. “For me, okay? You’re big, you need your energy.”

Broad-way took down her cube in one swig. “Okay, maybe I was still hungry.” She put her legs up on the table to trap Markershot between her knees. “So what are you doing today?”

“I have an interview.”

“An interview? For what?”

“To be Starscream’s therapist. I have to be there in two hours.”

Broad-way wrapped her arms around Markershot’s waist and pulled her close. “So we have time.”

“Oh, no,” Markershot put her hands on Broad’s arms. “We don’t have time. I’m taking the train.”

“Taking the train,” Broad whined. “Why?”

“So I can look over the files on my way there,” She gave Broad a peck on the mask. “I want to be prepared. I want this job,” she used one hand to bound over Broad-way’s massive leg. “I am getting this job.” Markershot grabbed her bag from beside the door and whipped around. “How do I look? Professional?”

“Hot.”

“Professionally hot?”

Broad-way pulled a face. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“I will take it,” Markershot flew out of the apartment. The metal boards in the hallway creaked under her lithe weight. They lived on the fifth floor of their apartment building. The stairs wrapped around the center. As she rounded into the next stairwell, Markershot nearly collided with the landlord.

“Markershot,” she snapped.

“Hi Zip-Zap, I can’t talk right now.”

“Oh, no ya don’t,” Zip-Zap, the small, orange and black bot who was a head and a half shorter than Markershot, stepped in the way. “Broad-way broke another one of my doors.”

“I know. And I told you I would pay for it as soon as I got paid-”

“It was six months ago. I’ve been very flexible until now, Markershot, you know I have.”

“I know. I know you have, and I really appreciate it-”

“Don’t you work for the Spire?”

“No, not technically. But if I get this job, then I will be, and I’ll have your money, alright? But right now I have to go. Thank you.” Markershot didn’t wait for a response. She threw herself over the railing and landed in the next stairwell. “I’ll comm you!” she called, running down the stairs.

In the street she leaped into the air and activated her thrusters. She spread her wings to keep balanced, and flew to the train station. The ride from her house to the station closest to the address she'd been given was an hour. It was a 40-50 minute walk from there.

Markershot sat on the train as far from everyone as she could. There weren’t too many people, so it wasn’t that hard. She mulled over the files she’d already read three times over, having nearly pulled an all-nighter the evening before just to read them again. She rubbed her fingertips into her eyes and blinked the ache from them.

“Okay,” she muttered. “Wheeljack. Host. Scientist. Hm. Sire.” All things she knew, but continued to be surprised by. This Wheeljack character piqued her curiosity. An Autobot inventor, who still aligned himself with the Autobots, taking in a former Decepticon, willingly. He hadn’t been paid, and wasn’t being paid. Starscream was even his co-parent.

Markershot frowned. She feared Wheeljack’s welcoming arms might not be as altruistic as they looked on paper. Until she saw the two interact she would have to reserve judgement. But she’d seen her fair share of abusive relationships that used good deeds as a guilt trip. “Look at all I’ve done for you,” one partner says. “How dare you complain about the terrible things I do.”

Markershot shook the thought out of her head. She hadn’t even met them yet. Maybe everything was fine. Maybe Wheeljack was a decent mech who took in someone from the opposite side. There was always the chance. Despite trying her best, Markershot still had a sinking feeling in her chest. She ignored it and read on.

On the walk to the address Markershot was so distracted by her work she barely realized that she’d entered a neighborhood, and not a business park like she’d been expecting. She paused mid stride and looked around. She brought up the address again, and walked until she found a cross road with a street sign.

“Alpha Trion way,” she read aloud. She banished the datapad to her subspace, and looked around. Cookie cutter houses. It looked as though they’d all been built during the reconstruction period. In the distance there was a hint of smoke coming from the scrap yard in the next neighborhood. She supposed someone was doubling their house as an office. That did happen. Not generally in cases like these, but it did happen.

She walked slower as the addresses got closer to the one on the invitation. She stopped in front of a house, just like the others. It seemed to have a slightly bigger yard, but everything else about it was uniform. One story, one door, two circular windows on the front. There were four stairs leading up to the door. Markershot waited before trying to go inside. There was still a half hour until her interview started. If this was just a house and not an office, sitting in a random room in the home would be awkward, and something Markershot desperately wanted to avoid.

She started down the street, walking past the house. She summoned a datapad from her bag and read over Wheeljack’s file again.

Autobot, Scientist. Co-parent. Weapons inventor. The inventor of the stupid regulators. He screamed terrible. But so did Starscream. They’d both seen war, they’d both garnered less than desirable reputations, Wheeljack less-so among the people he aligned himself with.

After twenty minutes Markershot returned to the house. She leaped up the steps, poised her knuckles at the door, and just as soon as she was about to make contact the door swung open. A bot slid past her, ushered by a face Markershot had only seen in files.

“Thank you, uh-” Wheeljack looked down at the datapad in his hand. “Marksmanship. We’ll call you.” His eyes squinted when they landed on Markershot. “You must be,” he referred to the datapad. “Markershot?”

Markershot put out her hand to shake. “Yes. Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Wheeljack.” He walked her into the house and closed the door. “Just sit anywhere. We’ll start in a few minutes. Make yerself at home.”

“Thank you.”

Markershot took a seat in what appeared to be a living room. It had two chairs, one couch, a table, and a crudely put together shelf that looked as though it was made of scrap metal. On one side of the couch toys scattered about the floor.

Starscream emerged from the hallway. He coughed into the side of his fist, shuffling to the kitchen area. Markershot watched him. His wings slumped, eyes dim. It looked as though there was greying on his face, even his fingertips. He coughed into his fist again as he got something out of one of the higher cupboards.

Markershot’s jaw clenched. The corners of her lips pulled in, but quickly returned her expression to neutral. A thousand thoughts went through her mind. Before she could act on any of them Wheeljack came back into the room. He stopped between the two spaces. He stared at Starscream for a moment before speaking.

“Are you at least gonna say hi?”

Starscream did not acknowledge him.

“Please.” Wheeljack placed the protoform he was holding on the counter. Starscream came around and picked him up. He gave the little tyke a kiss on the head before grabbing his cube and walking to the couch.

Wheeljack sat down beside him, much closer than Markershot expected. Wheeljack placed his hand on Starscream’s knee where it was immediately slapped off.

“Did you take both?” Wheeljack asked in a low tone.

Starscream didn’t respond. Wheeljack waited a few more seconds. He huffed, and gave up.

“Okay,” he smiled at Markershot. “Let’s get started, huh. You’re our last interview of the day. I’m just gonna jump right into it. You from Caminus?”

Markershot nodded. “I am.”

“What did you do there?”

“Well, I did a lot of things. I was trained for the royal guard. I did that for a long time. Then I became a lawyer.”

Wheeljack nodded, marking something down on the datapad in his lap. “Huh. When did you become a psychologist?”

“After I moved to Cybertron. I came here and intended to keep being a lawyer, but after I saw what was needed on the planet, I started working towards my doctorate in psychology.”

“You ever have a practice or anything? Patients, one on one before?”

“I never had my own practice, but I worked as a therapist for a while after I got my degree.”

“What made you switch to consultant?”

Markershot opened her mouth, but closed it. She swallowed her words and started again. “I couldn’t work the way I used to. Hours, I mean. My appointments took up all of my time, and that just wasn’t something I could do.”

“Ah, yeah, I feel that.” Wheeljack marked something else down. “So how long you been on Cybertron?”

“Uh, 200 years give or take.”

“Do you align yerself with Decepticons or Autobots?”

“Oh, no. That- I wasn’t part of that conflict.”

“I know ya weren’t. But do you align yerself with either of ‘em?”

Markershot thought about her words. She stared at the red Autobot symbol on Wheeljack’s chest and clenched her jaw. “No,” she said. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to choose sides in a war I never fought in.”

Wheeljack marked something down. “Are you licensed to prescribe medication?”

“I am.”

“Do you often?”

“Not usually. Not unless I think a patient needs it to help in his recovery. If general therapy doesn’t work I move to therapy and medication.”

“What kinda meds you usually prescribe?”

Markershot shrugged. “I mean, there’s no one general medication. Most of the patients I worked with had PTSD, so I generally prescribed them anti-anxiety medication. I know a lot of people are squeamish around the idea of taking meds, so I liked to do trial runs before committing to using that treatment. Therapy can be a lot of ups and downs. Sometimes it takes a few tries to figure out what works for people.”

Wheeljack marked something down. “I have references from the Spire. Would you be able to provide me with anymore?”

“Uh-” Markershot tried to think. “Probably not? I’m not sure. All references, former work included, or just as a psychologist? Because all I have for that is everything I gave the Spire. But if you want anything from when I was a lawyer or a guard I can get those. It was a long time ago, but I can still get them.”

Wheeljack nodded. “Yeah, if ya could.”

“Sure. Not a problem.”

Wheeljack shut down the datapad. “Alright. We’re done.”

Starscream stood up, deposited the protoform on Wheeljack’s lap, and left the room.

“He’s mad at me,” Wheeljack explained as he stood up. “Been given me the silent treatment for days. So don’t take it personal.” He ushered Markershot to the door. “Thanks fer comin’ today. I’ll contact you in a day or two if you got the job or not.”

Markershot lingered on the street for a while. She wandered away from the house, but walked around the neighborhood. She hooked her finger over her chin and furrowed her brow. Wheeljack hadn't been acting overly welcoming. His behavior appeared to be average. He seemed irritated with Starscream, but Starscream didn't stray away from him. Wheeljack immediately relented when Starscream slapped his hand away.

Markershot doubted she would get a more in depth look at how they interacted. If their relationship was abusive she would find out during their sessions.

Hopefully.

The fact that they took place in the home might hinder that possibility. At that moment Markershot was not worried. The interaction had been brief, and frankly didn't give her much, but the fact that there were no obvious signs was a good sign in and of itself. Not necessarily an indication that everything was okay, but it eased Markershot's worries for the time.

In the middle of the street she stopped.

In the distance the city rose like a shadow. It nearly covered the sun. The streets were empty. Not a single yard stirred. A shiver ran up Markershot's spine. She bent low and leaped into the sky. She spread her wings and flew home. Back to the other side of the city, where hissing vents and rolling cars hummed through the alleyways.

She touched down a few blocks away from home. It was almost dinner time. Markershot stopped in the sweet shop and grabbed a box for Broad before heading home.

The door to the apartment squeaked. It popped off its hinges but Markershot popped it right back on.

“Broad,” she called into the house. “I’m home.” She didn’t get a response. She dropped her bag by the door and dropped the goodie box on the table. The floorboards creaked until she made it into the carpet. Then there was silence. “Broad?”

Markershot wandered to the bedroom. The bed was empty. As was the washroom. Her eyes went wide, a weight struck her in the chest. Markershot nearly tripped over herself, rushing to the front door. She pulled it off its hinges and let it fall to the floor. She didn’t stop or slow down, she skipped the steps and jumped all the way down to the bottom through the narrow opening between the stairwells. Her wings flared behind her, smacking painfully against the railings.

On the way out the door she activated her comm and called her conjux. Rarely did Broad answer, and even if she did she just as soon forgot who she was talking to. Markershot ran down the street calling Broad’s name and calling her on the comm non-stop. Broad-way was big. She was hard to miss. But she was prone to panicking when she was in an unfamiliar place.

With her issues, she was always in an unfamiliar place.

“Broad, Broad-way, Broad-way,” Markershot’s voice ran down. She stopped in the middle of the street and tried to think. Where would Broad-way go? She almost never left the house. She didn’t know anything about the area.

Except-

Markershot took off into the air. She spread her wings and put her thrusters on full power. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, but wherever it was would be visible from the sky. She touched down at the first construction sight she saw, but found nothing. No luck at the second one either.

It was the third sight she visited. The other bots were trying to talk to Broad-way, keep her off the sight. Even from the sky Markershot could see Broad-way was getting irritated. She wagged her fists and lurched her head towards the mechs.

“Broad!” Markershot called, touching down. She ran to the conflict. “Broad-way.” She stepped between Broad-way and the construction workers.

One of the workers nodded to her. “You know him?”

“Her, and yes,” Markershot said. “I’m sorry if she caused any trouble.”

“Just get ‘er off our sight. She’s been holdin’ us up for an hour.”

“I’ll take her home. Sorry again.”

Markershot turned to face Broad-way. “Come on, Broad, we’re going home.”

“I can’t go home, honey, I gotta work.”

“No, you have the day off, remember?”

“I do?”

“Yes. I checked your schedule again, and you have the day off.”

Broad-way huffed. “And I drove all the way out here.”

“I know, dear. Maybe we can make it worth it on the way home.”

Broad-way grumbled, but didn’t protest. Markershot looked around. They weren’t too far from home, but far enough to make walking less than ideal. Night was coming. Markershot did not want to walk around Cybertron at night. Granted, she was well protected, with her own skills as well as Broad-way’s brawn, but that didn’t make the situation ideal. The best bet was the train.

“Come on, dear,” Markershot said, pulling Broad-way in one direction. “Let’s get home.”

Having a large bot prone to lashing out in an enclosed space with a lot of people was far from what Markershot wanted. But it seemed better than the alternative. As long as they were together, it would be fine.

Broad-way used to take the train to work, but she didn’t know that. Markershot walked her through the station, holding fast to her hand. They slipped into the emptiest train car and sat down away from all the other people.

“Shot? Are you feeling okay?”

Markershot flinched. “What? Oh. Yes.” She patted Broad-way’s hand. “I feel fine dear.”

“You’re shaking. Did you take your medication today?”

“It’s not time for that, dear. I take it before bed.”

“No, you take it in the morning, don’t you?”

“No, dear, the doctor changed it to the evening. Remember?” Markershot’s jaw clenched. Her lines tensed. “Because my spark was losing too much energy while I slept.”

“Right, I do remember now. I’m sorry.” Broad-way furrowed her brow, but didn’t say anything. She squeezed Markershot’s hand. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

Broad-way’s feet shuffled on the floor. “In the morning?”

Markershot drew her lips into a soft line. “No, dear. At night.”

“Oh.”

“It’s alright. We’ll be home soon.”

Markershot kept her eyes on the window. Graffiti flickered by. The train wheels squealed everytime they came to a stop. Markershot could feel the vibration of the trains movement in her pedes. She tried to concentrate on the hand clutching her own, and the feel of Broad’s warm plating against her side.

The train rolled into their station. Markershot stood before it came to a full stop. Broad-way wrapped a hand around her waist to keep her from falling over when the car lurched.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Shot?”

Markershot rubbed the ball of her hand against her spinning head. “Just fine,” she lied. “Let’s just get you home.”

“I think you’re over exerting yourself, honey. How much flying have you done today?”

“I’m-” Markershot’s vents became heavy. “I’m fine, Broad,” she sat down on the closest bench. “I just need a moment.” Markershot ignored the stickiness under her fingertips, and tried to concentrate on her spark beat. She blinked away her swirling vision and steadied her vents. Her spark fluttered, hopping up and down in its chamber. Before she knew it, she was in a pair of strong arms. Wind whipped past her loose wings.

“Broad-” Markershot muttered as she was placed gently on the couch. “Did you break the door?”

“Sh. Don’t strain yourself.”

“You remembered where we live.”

“Where’s your jump?”

Markershot tried to lift her hand, but didn't get very high. She pointed. “In the bedroom.”

Broad-way stomped back to the couch, jump in hand. She pressed one end of the metal tube into Markershot’s chest and pressed the button on the other end. Markershot’s chest jumped when the electricity jolted through her. It tickled across her plating, all the way to the tips of her fingers. All of the tension left her body.

“Can you get me my medication, dear?” she muttered, barely able to keep her eyes open.

Broad-way was gone for half a second. She returned with the pill bottle and a cube of energon. Markershot sat up with some help. She took the cube in shaking servos. “Thank you.”

“Prima, Shot. What did you do today?”

“I went for my interview. Then I came and found you,” Markershot took one pill out of the bottle and swallowed it with one gulp of energon.

Broad-way shook her head. “You know you shouldn’t over-exert yourself. You’ve been flying all day, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” Markershot swallowed the rest of her words. If she told Broad that the cause of her stress was her, then they would argue, and Markershot didn’t want to argue. There was no point to it. Broad-way wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t remember. And she wouldn’t remember the argument.

“You know you shouldn’t do that, Markershot. You know what the doctor said.”

“I know, dear. I know.” Markershot stood up. “We should go to bed.”

Broad-way didn’t let Markershot take one step. She carried her to the bedroom and laid her down.

“Broad, dear, I’m fine.” Markershot insisted.

Broad-way climbed into bed. “I won’t be taking any chances.” She threw one arm over her conjux, and rested her massive head on her chest. “I’ll stay up and listen to your spark beat all night if I have to.”

Markershot wrapped her arms around Broad-way’s shoulders. She laid her head back, closed her eyes, and ignore the beat of her own spark.


End file.
